


Reverb

by SnakeWrangler4



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, They tried to be friends oh no, shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnakeWrangler4/pseuds/SnakeWrangler4
Summary: The Warrior of Light wants to try and reach out to Fordola - but she doesn't know the best approach.
Kudos: 2





	Reverb

**Author's Note:**

> Note well that this will contain spoilers for FFXIV 4.1! Also for reference my WoL's name is indeed Isopod. She also has a stutter so apologies if it is not a tasteful/good rendition of one. Additional apologies for Fordola's accent.

"What do  _ you _ want?"

The tall Roegadyn woman flinched from the venom hurled at her by the cell's occupant.

A heavy iron door swung closed. The two in the cell were left alone. In the pause for a response, quiet rhythms served to fill the void. Water dripping. A clock ticking. Steel clanking.

Breathing.

Seething.

"...Fordola." The response in turn was weak, barely sure. But the intruder to the cell still stood, unwilling to leave so soon.

"Ye already took my freedom. Is a mite of privacy out o' the question now too?"

Another pause, this one used by the entrant to find a seat in the cramped cell. Fordola already sat on the cot, so the rocky protrusion from the wall that was passed off as a "chair" would have to do.

“I’m just here to s-see how you are doing.”

“Pah. Like ye couldn’t see earlier. How do you think someone would be doin’, waitin’ fer the world to remember it’s their time ta die!”

No response. Who even  _ could _ respond to that?

The venom, nevertheless, abated. Like it was already worn out. Already spent, burnt, empty.

"... What do ye want, Isopod?"

The Roegadyn wished she had taken more time to prepare. Herself, some fitting words, anything. So she only had her feelings to speak.

"You received s-some form of the Echo. It's sensitive. R-raw. And you're here, alone, n-no one to help with that..."

Another pause as Isopod mulled over the final piece to her statement.

"I thought that if I could, i-in a-any way, feel how y-you feel here… I should. To understand. So I want to sit here, f-for a while. Listening to you and my Echo both."

The rhythms filled the void once more. The void where Isopod awaited Fordola's response.

Dripping. Ticking. Clanking. Breathing.

But no seething.

Instead, laughing.

Resounding.

"Hah. Hah! Ahahahaha! Ain't that rich." Fordola crowed as she wiped a mock tear from her face. "Sorry, think I mis'eard ye. Almost sounded like the Warrior o' Light herself felt bad for me and thought she could just waltz on in and sit down for a lil' chat! Like that would help anything! Pahahaha!"

The prisoner of war faced Isopod expectantly. For a clarification, a better reason, something fantastical that would not be.

"Well? Speak up. I can't hear ye very well."

Isopod remained silent, her gaze burning a hole in the cold stone floor.

Fordola stood up.

Abruptly, no laughing.

Seething.

"I said. What. Did. You -"

Throbbing. Sudden, painful, searing throbbing. 

Fordola collapsed to one knee. Isopod motioned to run over, to help, but -

"Stay back! Spare me yer - Gyaaah!"

The visions came.

A smaller, younger Roegadyn, wearing ill-fitting clothes in an ill-fitting carriage. A carriage packed with more opulence than essentials, borne as fast as the chocobos could muster away from Mor Dhona.

All the young Roe knew was that their parents received an urgent missive bearing a Garlean seal. Suddenly, they packed, like Hell itself would come knocking any moment.

And then, it did. The earth exploded as it met the moon, debris falling, carriage rattling. The Roe being all but certain at that moment that they had narrowly avoided the destructive fate of their home.

Rather, former home, now.

Fear. Uncertainty. Bewilderment. The young Roe felt all these things, yet had nothing to confide in. They were alone in the carriage, only clothes and suitcases for company, their parents riding separately in the car ahead.

Maybe that was for the better. The lessons at home were always about maintaining a stalwart visage, unswayed no matter what comes. 

Anything else would be improper.

But here, nothing had to be proper. So the cart rang with a fearful wail, of a young noble who had had their whole life upended by no less than the apocalypse while they clung to a box of jewelry for support.

The vision blurred. Time moved forward. The blur subsided.

The new scene was much more recent. In it, all that could be seen was a woman captive in a barren cell. But much more could be felt.

Sorrow.

Guilt.

Something that could not be properly named or measured - a desire to set things right, to get closer, because you've seen her past and it's not far from yours.

Hope.

The vision ended.

And Fordola looked up.

Breathing.

Glaring.

Seething.

"You… Yer here 'cus ye FEEL BAD?!"

The venom returned. Isopod flinched again.

Fordola stood up and staggered forward.

Shaking. 

Seething.

"If you think… ye can come in here, act all woe-is-me on my behalf, thinkin' we could be BUDDIES…"

She spat. Venom landed on the floor.

"Ye don't know half of what it's like to really lose your home.. To see it torn apart while everyone else makes excuses to sit on their arse!"

Her gaze dare not left Isopod.

"And you think ye can jus' waltz in here… and SIT there, because ye FEEL BAD?! Is that it? Thinkin' PITY will win me over? Thinkin' it'll convince the world to let me live one more day, and that'll clear yer conscience?

Yer a bloody savior of the realm, you have me at yer mercy, and ye use me for THERAPY?"

Words began.

"Fordola, I-I -"

Words ended.

They were ended by a blow. A sudden, swift blow to the jaw. Fordola held a clenched fist, knuckles white.

Isopod finally met her gaze. She soon wished she hadn't.

Both shaking.

One seething.

The void returned, only two rhythms to accompany it.

Breathing.

And seething.

Nursing her jaw, Isopod sat. Desperately she tried to find what to say.

Something.

Anything.

But nothing came. So much she wanted to say, to apologize, to reassure, to relate. But deep down she knew nothing was right to say here.

"Well? Ye got anything else to say?"

Nothing.

"Hmph."

Fordola returned to the cot.

The usual rhythms returned. The dripping. The ticking. The clanking.

Isopod stood up. Her eyes fixated on the floor, like she would trip the moment her feet left her view.

So much she wanted to say, still.

So much it hurt that she had to leave without saying any of it.

So she left. No words. No goodbye.

She closed the door.

She left Fordola to the rhythms.

Dripping.

Ticking.

Clinking.

Breathing.

But no seething.

Instead

Sobbing.


End file.
